They didn’t walk far when they reached her car, an old Japanese sedan. Honey liked its reliability, and as an older car, she didn’t have to worry about computer parts failing her. Most importantly, she could actually take care of the basic maintenance herself.
“This is me.” She unlocked and opened her door.
“Thank you for an interesting evening, Honey. I’ll see you around.” Morgan waited for her to slide into the driver’s seat then closed her car door before backing away.
Honey started her car then watched him walk back down the hill in the direction they had come. She realized he had walked out of the way for her. Honey couldn’t remember once when any other man had done something as considerate as that. He was definitely becoming more interesting.
3
Finney moved from painting to painting, examining the tags. He sighed dejectedly as he encountered another label without the telltale little dot indicating it had been sold. He slumped into one of the cushioned chairs. Finney wasn’t up to his regular animated chatter. His opening party had been packed and full of bustling energy. The coffee shop did well in sales, but Finney had only sold one small painting. According to him, the opening had been a complete waste of time.
Seth rattled dishes as he made his way into the back and started the dishwasher. Honey cleaned the front counter, avoiding the midday maintenance on the coffee machine. Finney’s dejected attitude was merely a reflection of the slow afternoon.
The bells over the door tinkled. Honey looked up from her task, prepared to rush around the counter and wash her hands before serving the new guest. She heard Finney gasp before she registered her own pleased reaction. Morgan.
“Morgan, you are a sight for sore eyes.” Finney cooed. “Sit, sit, sit,” he directed. “Hey, Honey, look. Morgan’s here.”
Morgan smiled broadly at her as he sat in the chair Finney directed.
“Hi, Morgan,” she said, wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron. His presence was a welcome change in the monotony of the day.
“Honey. Finney.” Morgan nodded to each in turn. He leaned back into his chair. “This is perfect, but,” he began to rise. “I should order before I get too comfortable.”
“Nonsense,” Finney chided. “Honey will bring your order over, won’t you, Honey?”
“Why not? It’s not like I’m doing anything else,” she harrumphed. “What can I get you?”
“You sure? Large, black, high octane, and something sweet,” he paused.
“But not lemon.” Honey finished for him, remembering he had left behind the lemon bar his first day in the shop. She remembered Lana eating it, claiming that after all, it was paid for and abandoned by the man because he “didn’t do lemon.”
“But not lemon,” he confirmed.
“You want anything else while I’m at it, Finney?”
“Now that you mention it, I could use another tea and something sweet sounds great. Bring me whatever you bring him.”
Honey shook her head as she walked behind the counter. Finney was obviously crushing on Morgan. Finney was a stickler for always having the right pastry with his tea. And if lemon bars were available, he always ate a lemon bar. Even if it was misdirected, at least Finney was branching out. Morgan wasn’t Finney’s type either. Finny tended to like younger men in lots of leather.
Hmmm, misdirected. She thought Morgan had been flirting with her, at least she realized she had wanted him to be flirting with her. Could she be sure? He could still be gay and flirt with her. He could be bi and flirt with her. Maybe he was just being nice.
She tried to eavesdrop on Finney and Morgan’s conversation. Maybe she could pick up nuances that would tell her whether Morgan was responsive to Finney. Maybe Morgan secretly was a leather boy? But all Finney blathered on about was how much of his soul went into his paintings and how “the Philistines around here just don’t appreciate good art.”
Honey carried over a tray with Finney’s hot water, a fresh tea bag, Morgan’s large coffee, and two plates with gooey cinnamon rolls.
“Abstract Expressionism is hard to sell in a place full of tourists and all the galleries in Carmel, especially when most people are looking for something to commemorate their trip here.” Honey tried to explain.
“I have to agree. Your work would probably sell better in a bigger city. LA, New York.” Morgan added. He grinned at Honey as he took his plate from her and smelled the large frosted roll. “Smells great. Another of Lana’s creations?”
Honey nodded.
“Well, I live and work here,” Finney whined. “I don’t like having to shill myself in those other places. Too crowded, too noisy.”
“What you need, Finney is an agent,” Morgan suggested. “They do all the legwork in the cities for you. You stay here and paint.”
Honey watched as Finney played with his tea bag, thinking. She thought it a brilliant suggestion. Finney should as well, but Honey expected Finney to start making excuses as to why it wouldn’t work.
The door bells tinkled again. A group of Asian tourists came chattering in the door. Honey moved to be of service behind the counter and left the two men to discuss Finney’s abysmal career.
She smiled and returned the mini bows the tourists gave her as she delivered their drinks. She reflected on a time in her past when she would have been annoyed trying to order in a foreign country. She didn’t speak any languages other than English, and she wasn’t the most polite foreigner. In her previous life, she had never really appreciated the travel opportunities she had been given. It had all seemed like such a bore, an attitude she had clearly picked up from those around her.
She was in a better place mentally now. Sure the clothes weren’t as exciting and the shoes were downright functional rather than decorative, but she was learning who she was inside. She was a different person than she had been.
Morgan’s deep voice pulled her from her reverie. “Honey? Honey, hey.”
She blinked at his close face. Damn, could that dimple in his chin actually be making him better looking? She had zoned out completely. Suddenly realizing she was staring at Morgan, she said, “Sorry. I got lost there for a moment. She shook her head to bring her awareness back to the here and now.
“I need to get back to work.” He held something out to her. She glanced down at the credit card extended in front of her.
“Right, sorry.” She took the card. While she hit keys on the register to total his bill, Morgan said, “Add Finney’s tab to that. He’s pretty down about not selling anything.”
“Yeah, he really needs a sale and not just for the money. If he doesn’t sell something soon, he’ll spiral into a depression. His work gets really bleak when he’s depressed.”
“It was just a cinnamon roll. I doubt it will fend off depression.”
Honey added in Finney’s tea and pastry. “It’s still sweet of you. I think he likes you,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“I think you’re right,” Morgan whispered back. “But we’re clear where we stand. Buying a drink for a buddy who is feeling rejected isn’t sending mixed signals, is it?”
“No, I think he’ll appreciate the gesture. It’s not like a secret come-on, especially since it’s tea. Now if it were a martini and you’d showed up in studded leather chaps—” She snapped her thumb and third finger together then pointed her index finger at his chest. “—that would be mixed signals. You’re safe, for now.”
Morgan chuckled as he folded his receipt and put his credit card back in his wallet. He turned then pivoted back toward the counter. “Let Lana know her buns are the best.”
A voice from behind Honey rang out, “I heard that!”
“You were supposed to!” He turned his attention back to Honey. “See ya’.” He nodded and winked at her before leaving.
Morgan was different and surprising. He had only been around for a few days and already he fit in nicely with the regulars and everyone else at The Corner. He was being a good friend to Finney and trad
ing teasing quips with Lana as if he’s known her for years. If Honey let herself, she could really like him.
The tourists left. Finney sipped tea. Lana disappeared back into the office. Seth made too much noise banging dishes around, and Honey returned to cleaning parts of the counter. Everything returned to how it had been before the brief interlude with Morgan and the tourists.
The phone rang. Honey heard Lana answer then proceeded to ignore it.
“Finney.” Lana’s voice sounded stern, commanding. “You need to come over here. Give Honey your phone.”
“What’s going on?” Finney asked.
“Trust me on this. Give your phone to Honey.” Cautiously, he handed the phone to Honey. She took it, a question in her eyes.
“Start recording this.” Lana directed.
“What?” Honey was as confused as Finney.
Lana smirked. Honey recognized that expression, Lana was being mischievous. Something was up. “Trust me. This needs to be recorded.”
Honey nodded and held up the phone to record. “Just keep it on Finney,” she paused. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Okay, it’s recording.” Honey focused on Finney’s confused expression.
Lana began speaking, “I just received a call from an anonymous buyer and a bank transfer is being made. I have a delivery address, but no name.” Finney looked even more confused. Lana started walking towards the middle of the shop. “Camera on me for a sec.”
Honey moved so that the phone recorded Lana. She held up a green dot on the tip of her finger. Finney squealed in delight. Honey refocused on him as Lana slowly walked past several small paintings. Honey continued recording Finney’s anticipation. Lana carefully placed the dot next to the painting Desespoir Agréable. Finney’s expression gave way to shock, then tears of joy as he realized the painting had sold.
“It sold? It sold!” Finney’s voice rose in happy shock.
“Yep. The money transfer should be complete in the next few days. The buyer expects it to ship when we pull the show down.”
“Oh, my God! It sold!” Finney glowed, still absorbing the happy news.
Honey continued to record. She knew Finney would want the recording to share with all his friends.
“Where’s it being shipped to? Who is the buyer?” He shot questions rapidly at Lana.
“Buyer—I honestly don’t know. I spoke with a bank person. And the shipping address is in New York,” Lana explained.
“New York?”
“New York.”
“I need to call my mother.” Finney patted all his pockets. “Where’s my phone?” He returned to his chair and continued to look around. “Where the hell is my effing phone?”
Honey laughed as he looked directly at her and both realized she held his phone. She stopped the recording and handed Finney his phone. She knew that last part would be edited and put on the Internet. It was too funny not to share. And Finney was a member of the over-sharers club.
Finney took his phone, and in seconds, he happily chattered away with someone on the other end of the line.
“Seriously?” Honey asked Lana.
Lana nodded. “I’ve never done that before. Bank transfers and anonymous purchases. It felt all so very upmarket.”
“Any idea who bought it?”
Lana shook her head.
“Well, I’m glad he has a fan with deep pockets. The commission on that piece does not suck.”
“So now what?” Honey asked, not feeling like returning to cleaning after the excitement of Finney’s big sale.
“Now we listen to Finney tell us repeatedly his version of the tale of intrigue over the big sale.
Honey laughed. Lana was right. Finney loved to share, and this was a particularly juicy story.
4
Honey sighed when she walked into the deli. The line for lunch was too long. She would never get her order filled in time to eat and get back to work within the time allotted for her lunch break. She could just skip eating. One meal wouldn’t hurt her. One meal wouldn’t trigger an avalanche back into old eating habits.
One meal. “Just give me one meal,” her therapist used to say. “Eat one good meal for me today, and tomorrow we can start talking about eating two meals.” Recovery starts with one meal and so does a relapse. Honey sighed. No skipping lunch today. It wouldn’t be the healthiest option, but she could get pizza by the slice. She turned and began to push through the outdoor when Morgan called her name.
“Honey, what do you want?” She turned and saw him already standing at the order counter waiting on a sandwich being made. He and the counter clerk were looking at her. She noticed how tall he really was. His head practically brushed the hanging salami display, and he looked to be twice as tall as the girl behind the counter.
“Uhm, I was going to get the Pesto Primavera.” Honey watched Morgan nod to the clerk before she moved off to scoop pasta salad into a clear to-go container.
“Grab me a bag of chips and an Orangina, and get yourself a drink. Meet me at the register,” Morgan directed.
Honey was aware that everyone in line watched her. She had walked in the door, and by sheer dumb luck, had been propelled to the head of the line. This Morgan guy wasn’t so bad after all. Now if he would just do something with his hair and stop it with those damn plaid shirts. She pulled a bottle of the orange soda he requested from the commercial glass-fronted cooler and a sparkling water for herself. Uncertain of Morgan’s chip preference, she selected three different bags. She would eat one with lunch and save the one he didn’t want for later.
She joined Morgan when he stepped forward in line.
“Hey, that was really nice. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No problem. You looked so despondent and about to leave.”
“I appreciate it, I really do, but let me pay you back.”
Morgan waved her suggestion aside. “No, I’ve got this. It’s just a pasta salad, no strings attached.”
“Are you sure?”
“Okay, how about one of your friendly smiles?”
“Really?” She crinkled her brow and stared at him in disbelief.
“Okay, how about a sarcastic retort?”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled.
“Totally worth it,” he crooned.
They headed out of the crowded deli and started walking back towards The Corner. Honey found a tall curb to sit on, and Morgan sat next to her.
“Orangina? You drink Orangina, but you wouldn’t eat Lana’s lemon bars?”
“No lemon, no chocolate. Lemon messes with my sense of taste and smell, and I’m allergic to chocolate. Oranges are fine. Besides, it’s Orangina, it’s not like drinking an orange soda at all. Makes your tongue feel like doing the Lambada.” He licked his lips, swiping his tongue across his upper lip, and then wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
Honey giggled nervously at his blatant flirting. He was even better looking than she had let herself think on Friday night. His tongue had licked lips she hadn’t realize she’d thought about licking herself.
“So, Morgan,” she asked between bites. “You’re just here for some job, right?” Honey was bound and determined to improve. She knew she had judgmental issues and that there were no grounds to make assumptions based on superficial reasons. So far he had proven to be a pretty nice guy. Lana would be proud of her progress.
“Yeah. I’m living out of an old Air Stream I’m renovating. It’s currently parked up in Moss Beach.”
Honey nodded not sure what to say next.
“I could ask you the same, but your job is a little less transient than mine,” Morgan observed.
“I moved down here from San Francisco a few years ago. A mutual friend introduced me to Lana. She had ideas for the café, and I was looking for something.” She slowly shook her head at her own situation. Her hand reflexively wrapped around the charm at her neck. She remembered strange details about that day. Particularly the fog. The way the weather and her mood lightened c
onsiderably as she traveled south and away, as if the fog was releasing her from it’s embrace.
“Did you find it?” Morgan’s voice pulled her out of the mist in her head.
“What?” Honey, temporarily lost in her thoughts about running away from San Francisco had lost track of the conversation.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I’m not even sure what I was looking for at the time. I’ve found something different than intended, and for now, that’s perfectly good. I feel safe here, and that’s what counts, right?”
Honey stood up. Morgan watched as she brushed dirt off her backside. “I have to get back to work. Thanks for lunch. Next time you come in, your coffee and snack are on me.” Honey stopped, realizing what she had just said. “Uhm, right,” she stammered as her mind pictured images of Morgan licking whipped cream from her belly.
“Bye.” Morgan laughed.
She wiggled her fingers in a nervous wave before spinning away from Morgan, hoping he didn’t see her blush.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “A construction worker who knows about the connection between Orangina and the Lambada.” One being an orange soda from Brazil, the other a sexy dance from the soda’s TV commercials. Getting into Morgan’s first chapter so far had been worth it.
Honey stopped in her tracks as a chill traveled down her spine. For a split second, she thought she recognized a slender, dark-haired man. She blinked, focusing on the figure. He turned. She saw an unfamiliar smiling face with dark eyes. Honey shook herself and breathed a sigh of release. She needed to be clearheaded in order to deal with the workday ahead of her. She didn’t need any man clouding her thoughts. Not Morgan and his lips and not that blue-eyed sadist who’d triggered a panic attack the last time she saw him.
*
The fog bank rolled in earlier than normal. By four o’clock, all the unprepared tourists were making a rush on the shops that sold sweatshirts. It was the kind of day on which cups of comforting hot chocolate sold better than coffee.
“Rachelle,” a familiar male voice mispronounced her middle name. Her head snapped up in recognition at the sound of rah-shell. Her nose twitched at the familiar smell of pungent aftershave. She felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach lurched.
Protective: Legatum - Book 1 Page 3